Break My Heart Tomorrow
by Firebird9
Summary: ... but let me have tonight. When Jack finally makes his move, Phryne is forced to confront not only her own feelings but also the reality of just how badly she has hurt him.
1. Chapter 1

_I was listening to U2's 'With Or Without You' before I went to bed one night, and when I woke up this fic was floating around in my head._

* * *

Phryne wasn't quite sure how or why she and Jack had ended up kissing, but it was already apparent that it certainly wasn't going to stop there.

The evening had begun like so many others, with drinks in her parlour following another successful case. Another murder solved, thanks to their combined abilities and by-now well-established working rhythm. Another evening when Jack had turned up on her doorstep, uninvited but never unwelcome, to sit not quite close enough and smile that smile that never said quite enough, and to quote Shakespeare at her with never-quite-stated intent. Until he had leaned across, brushed her hair away from her cheek, searched her eyes for permission and, receiving it, pressed his lips against hers.

And now he was kissing her. Slowly, deliberately, in a way that made his intentions, for once, absolutely clear. If there had been any doubt in her mind just what he meant by those kisses, then what his hands were doing would have washed it away, for they were moving endlessly up and down her body as though intent on touching and memorising every inch of her. For her part, she was repaying his attentions with interest, still unsure what exactly had prompted this sudden escalation in their relationship, but thoroughly enjoying it nonetheless.

And yet... Jack hadn't spoken a single word to her since his lips had first fastened on hers, and there was something in his silence that she found disturbing. With words or without, Jack always asked questions, and she was fairly certain that her lack of firm answers on the subject of romance formed a large part of the reason why _this_, or something very like it, hadn't happened before today.

So his sudden silence about just what was happening between them was disturbing to her. Disturbing enough that it was she who broke their kiss and pulled back slightly from him. The sound that he made when she did so was even more disturbing; a soft, inarticulate cry of such profound loss that it hurt even to hear it.

"Jack..." she trailed off as he gazed deeply into her eyes from mere inches away. What she saw there only added to her concern. Desire, yes, but beyond that a desperation and pain that took her breath away. How he could feel all that and utter only one tiny cry was beyond her.

"Ssshh, Phryne," he whispered softly, his voice rough with emotion. "I'm not asking you for anything, love. I know you don't want... anything, that you don't feel the same way about me. But please, let me have tonight. Break my heart tomorrow, but let me have tonight."

He could have struck her, and it would not have affected her so profoundly. She could only stare at him, speechless for once, and he evidently took her silence and continued nearness as agreement, because after a moment's hesitation he leaned forward and began to kiss her neck again. And oh! but he knew how to kiss her. Long and lingering, and in ways that made it difficult to think, because she wanted him, oh, yes, she had done for a long time, and he...

He thought that she didn't, or at least that she didn't want him in a way that was at all different from the way in which she had wanted all the other lovers that she'd taken to her bed, before she knew him and since. And, with his lips on her neck and his hands on her body, she suddenly realised that that wasn't the case. Because she wanted far more than just one night, and it was only now, now that they were approaching the point of no return, that she was able to recognise that fact.

Feelings (love) that she had been denying for months surged up within her heart, as this good, honourable, loving man continued to kiss her, wilfully breaking his own heart with every touch of his lips. One night with him could never be enough. He could never be a fling, a dalliance, a casual affair to brush aside and forget in the morning light. He was (her love) her strength, her shield, her ally in a world that too often felt hostile, her anchor in the storms of life, the hand that pulled her back when she had gone too far, the arms that caught her when she fell right over the edge. He was her friend, her confidante, her partner in every way.

She loved him.

She had hardened her heart, all those years ago, and sworn that she would never love again, but somehow, without even noticing, she had fallen in love with him. She had promised herself that she would never belong to any man ever again, that no man would ever possess her, but suddenly she was certain, completely and utterly certain, that she belonged _with_ him.

"No, Jack."

He pulled away at once, even though the words had been no more than a breath, and drew back, eyes full of guilt, lips already parting in words of profound apology, but she caught his sleeve with one hand, covered his lips with the other, and held him there with a look.

She shook her head. "I can't give you tonight. Not without giving you tomorrow as well."

He shook his head at that, more sharply than she had, trying to clear the fog of desire and make sense of her admittedly ambiguous words.

"Jack," she stroked his cheek. "Is that what you think of me? What you think you mean to me? One single night, and then I'll break your heart forever?"

He smiled wryly. "I'm sure I'll recover, with time."

"You could never be just one night to me, Jack. If you take me tonight, then I'm yours tomorrow. And then for as long as you want me."

"That could be a very long time," he whispered, moving one hand back to her cheek.

She sighed and closed her eyes. She loved him so much. Why had she never let herself feel it before? Why had she never let herself see what he felt for her, never let herself give him what she now realised they both wanted so badly? Jack Robinson was no Rene Dubois; hadn't he proven that, time and time again? Hadn't he risked himself for her over and over; his safety, his career, even his life? He would have given himself to her tonight, given her his heart and let her break it, and never given a thought to possession or revenge. But she couldn't let him do that. She couldn't let herself do that; to take his love and then to let it go. Greedy as a child for sweets, she would always want more from him than that.

She turned her lips into his palm and kissed it before whispering her response. "Then I'm yours forever."


	2. Chapter 2

Jack Robinson awoke the next morning filled with a dread that made him immediately want to close his eyes again. He had known for a long time that this moment would come. Known that one day he would wake up in her bed, and it would all be over. Everything they had shared, turned to ashes for the sake of one golden moment. He had tried to tell himself that it wouldn't be worth it, that one night with her could never be worth living a lifetime without her.

He had been right. Oh, their lovemaking had been everything he had ever dreamed of, and more. Passionate, and tender, and utterly abandoned. For one glorious night he had touched her, and tasted her, held her to him and possessed her completely, even as she had possessed him. And now it was over. Nothing left to do except turn over the memories in his mind, and hope that they would carry him through the endless empty days and years ahead.

The memories...

She had stopped him at one point, and he had cried out like a child at the unfairness of it. She spent her charms freely on other men, and yet she would deny him even this? But no, there had been more, words that had soothed and comforted him, that had, for a brief moment, kindled a flame of hope – real hope, not just wild and improbable dreams – within him. There had been a promise; the promise of forever.

He lay still, and tried not to let himself hope. Phryne Fisher was many things, but she was never dishonest, not when it came to her feelings. No, she was never dishonest, but she was impulsive, and she had spoken last night in the heat of the moment. He could not take it for granted that her words would retain their meaning in the cold, dispassionate light of day.

Nonetheless, he had these last few moments to spend beside her, and not for anything would he risk waking her too soon. Carefully, oh, so carefully, he rolled over onto his side and lay there, looking for what he knew could well be the only time at the sight of his precious Phryne lying asleep beside him.

...

Phryne Fisher awoke suddenly, and was immediately aware of three things: one, that there was a man beside her, and that man was Jack Robinson. Two, that he was awake. And three, that he was miserable. She knew the first because it was something she had wanted for a long time, and she was not likely to forget that it had happened, even in the hazy moments of first waking. She knew the second because she recognised the difference in breathing pattern that separated a bed-mate's wakefulness from sleep. And she knew the third because, well, she knew Jack.

He was miserable, and lying very, very still, no doubt trying not to wake her. Guilt surged through her. One night, that was all he had begged her for. One night together, and she could break his heart in the morning. And now morning had come and evidently, in spite of her words the night before, he was expecting her to do exactly that.

God, what had she done to him?

But she couldn't pretend that she didn't know: unable to face her own feelings, she had instead hidden behind flirtatious games and seductive posturing. Suspecting that he loved her, she had endeavoured to reduce his love to simple desire, and to pretend even to herself that her own feelings were no more than that, either. She had been cruel, she acknowledged, and had given him no reason to hope for anything else. She had given him no reason to trust her with his heart, and when he had handed it over anyway he had done so fully expecting her to break it.

If she truly meant to keep him – and she did, oh! she did – then all of that had to stop, immediately. There would be other games, of course, but they would be kinder, more honest. Games that would bless instead of wound. And so she let herself think about him, about all he meant to her, and then, for the first time, let her true feelings for him flow through her, filling her up with love and joy and, she had to admit, more than a touch of apprehension, because love meant vulnerability, and she had good reason to hate being vulnerable.

He was aware that she was awake, and she heard his breathing quicken with apprehension as he realised that the night with her was over. Taking a deep breath of her own, she rolled over and smiled up at him, whispering his name softly.

...

"Jack." The way she said it was not what he had expected. Her voice was soft, her smile warm and tender, and she reached up to lay one gentle hand on his cheek. He laid his own hand over hers, not daring to hope, not just yet, that the look on her face might mean what he thought it did, and whispered her name in return.

"Phryne."

"I meant what I said last night," she told him, as he fixed his wary, yearning gaze on hers. "I'm yours, Jack, for as long as you want me. If you want me forever, then I'm yours forever." She paused and drew a deep breath, and he knew then that she was utterly, utterly sincere. "Because I love you, Jack Robinson."

...

She saw the hope blossom on his face then, like the sun bursting through clouds. Hope, and love, and happiness, as he bent his head to hers and kissed her fervently, again and again. "I love you, Phryne, I love you so much, so very much," he whispered between kisses, and she kissed him back, giggling suddenly, giddy with the newness and the joy of it, making him laugh breathlessly with her. "Oh, Phryne, Phryne..."

He seemed set to say more, but just then there was a tap on the door, and Dot entered at once, as was her custom, with Phryne's morning tea-tray. Phryne felt Jack freeze against her, and tried not to laugh.

"Could you bring a second cup for the inspector, please Dot?" she asked, as Jack slowly, and with evident embarrassment, peeled himself away from her and pulled the covers up to his navel, looking very much as though he'd rather clutch them to his chest, or perhaps simply pull them over his head and hide beneath them. A glance at Dot confirmed that, for all her Catholic modesty, she was similarly amused by his reaction.

"Of course, Miss." And then, because her mistress' wicked ways were clearly rubbing off on her, she smiled brightly at him and added "good morning, Inspector Robinson."

He blushed! He actually blushed, as red as he had the night he first laid eyes on Sarcelle's painting of her. But good manners were too deeply ingrained in him to fall to a mere onslaught of embarrassment over being found naked in a lady's bed by his young constable's sweetheart, and he managed a credible "good morning, Miss Williams," in return.

The door closed behind the maid, and Jack's eyes swept the room anxiously, desperate to locate at least his smalls before she returned. He spotted them at last, on the other side of the room (which of them had flung them there? He honestly couldn't remember), and made to rise and retrieve them.

"I'd hurry if I were you," Phryne remarked, finding all of this highly entertaining. "She'll be back any moment." Sure enough, soft footfalls sounded in the hallway even as she spoke, and Jack all but leapt back into her bed. She smiled and wrapped her arms about his neck, reminding herself that, for all that the humour of the moment had broken the tension between them, he still needed kindness right now. "It doesn't matter, love. She'll be gone in a moment, and then you can dress if you want." She would prefer that he didn't, but she supposed it was up to him.

A tap on the door, and Dot entered with a second cup and saucer. "Thank you," Phryne smiled at her companion, "and would you please have Mr. Butler make hot water and a men's shaving kit available in about an hour. And I suspect the inspector's shirt could do with an iron. We'll breakfast once we've dressed."

"Of course Miss." Dot collected the crumpled shirt from the floor and laid it over the foot of the bed. Jack opened his mouth to say something, but Phryne gave him a gentle look and shook her head slightly. Meanwhile, Dot gathered up the rest of their clothing from the floor, sorting, folding, finding hangers so that the creases could fall out. She did glance quickly away from his unmentionables, leaving them where they were, and true to Phryne's word she was gone in a moment, taking his shirt with her.

"Miss Fisher-"

"Whatever happened to 'Phryne'?" she interjected. There was laughter in her voice, but she was serious beneath it. He used her given name with meaning, in a way that no-one else ever had, and she loved hearing it fall from his lips.

"Phryne," he started again. "You really don't need to put your household staff to any trouble on my account."

She regarded him affectionately, head on one side, trying to think of how to explain. If he was going to become a regular fixture in her household – more regular than he had been, she corrected – then he needed to understand how things worked. "Jack, how would you feel if people stopped reporting crimes to you because they didn't want to inconvenience you by asking you to investigate?"

He frowned, puzzled. "But I'm a police officer; it's my job to investigate crimes and arrest those responsible. Doing my job can hardly be classed as an inconvenience."

"And what about when you ask Constable Collins to do something, or give him an order, as part of his job? Do you worry that you might be inconveniencing him?"

"Of course not. That's his job."

She smiled gently. "Attending to my needs, and the needs of my guests and the household as a whole, is Dot and Mr. Butler's job. They do it well, and take pride in doing so. My job is to ensure that they have work to do, and to see to it that they're paid a fair wage for doing it. I'm not inconveniencing Dot by having her bring me tea in the morning, any more than you're inconveniencing her by providing her with a shirt to iron. In fact, you should see the consternation on their faces when I decide to rise earlier than usual, before they can attend to my needs. Ask them politely for what you need, give clear instructions when necessary, but don't hesitate to make any reasonable request of them. It's their pleasure to make these things happen."

He nodded slowly. "I see."

She moved suddenly to straddle his lap, seeing his initial surprise give way to pleasure and desire as his arms came up around her. "My pleasure, on the other hand, is to make love to you. Right here and now, before the tea grows cold."


	3. Chapter 3

_Many thanks to everyone who's taken the time to review this fic. Special thanks to Seldarius, FoxFireside, and Xfphile; conversations and ideas shared with you provided a lot of inspiration for this fic._

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An hour later they were resting, wrapped in one another's arms, their passion temporarily sated and their lukewarm tea consumed. Jack was still uncertain whether or not this was all some particularly vivid and pleasant dream, but when he had expressed his uncertainty to Phryne she had obligingly pinched his arm hard enough that he had to concede that he was most definitely awake. If only because he would not allow himself to dream of a Phryne with such sharp fingernails.

Footsteps came and went outside a couple of times before there was another discreet tap on the door.

"Miss?"

It was Mr. Butler's voice this time, and Jack was relieved that by now they had both located at least a minimal amount of clothing.

"Come in, Mr. Butler," Phryne called.

The manservant entered at once carrying a steaming jug of water, which he placed by the wash-stand. He left the room briefly and returned with Jack's shirt and a men's shaving kit. "Hot water, a razor, and Inspector Robinson's shirt, Miss," he announced when he was done.

"Thank you. We'll be down for breakfast in about half an hour," she replied.

"Very good, Miss."

Once they were alone again, Phryne ran a gentle hand over Jack's chest. "Do you want to shave? I might have a quick bath."

He didn't need to ask why. After the way they had passed the night, it wasn't just her face that she would want to wash. He nodded, and felt her peel herself away from him. Irrationally, he missed her at once, and she must have sensed something of his feelings because she turned and looked back at him with a gentle smile. "I'm not going anywhere, Jack."

He shaved and dressed, pausing as he pulled on his shirt. There had been a small tear in it yesterday, just where the sleeve joined the cuff. Today, the tear was gone, and examining the fabric closely he saw that it had been expertly mended with small, neat stitches. He couldn't help but smile. Dot. No-one had told her to do it, and Phryne hadn't even known it needed mending, but nonetheless the young woman had taken it upon herself to fix his shirt – and very competently too. Phryne's words about Dot taking pride in her work came back to him, and he was glad now for her attentions. For all he had tried to master the art, he never had been any good with a needle and thread.

He debated whether to don his tie, waistcoat and jacket, but in the end settled for rolling his sleeves up and leaving the top button of his shirt undone. Barring a murder, he had nowhere to be today except with Phryne, and after their recent intimacies he felt he could allow himself to be a little less formal and guarded in his dress.

At the thought of his lover (oh, his lover! Would he ever tire of thinking of her that way?), he turned to see her stepping naked from her shallow bath. She caught him looking, and gave him a sensuous smile. He walked towards her, but changed his angle at the last moment and picked up a towel instead.

"If you start anything right now we'll miss breakfast. And I seem to have worked up quite an appetite."

"You've worked up my appetite, too," she remarked, her smile turning positively salacious, but accepted the proffered towel. He ran a comb through his hair, then seated himself on the bed and watched her dress.

"Any preferences as to what I wear?" she asked. She had never noticed him paying particular attention to any item of her attire (except for those that were most definitely intended to gain any man's attention), and it was suddenly important to her to know what he liked.

"I really don't mind." In all honesty, he was thoroughly enjoying watching her walking around in her undergarments, to the point that he rather hoped she would finish dressing soon, or they really would miss breakfast.

...

It was good to hear the lightness and banter return to his voice after the heartbreak of the night before. It was good, too, to see him looking at her with love and happiness – and honest desire –instead of the desperate sorrowful yearning which she had seen on his face when she first awoke. She knew that the damage she had done would not be mended so quickly, but it was a good start, of that she was certain. What they really needed now, she thought, was a good murder case to get their teeth into, to pull them back into the normal rhythm of their lives, albeit with a few new steps added to their dance. With luck, she thought, there wouldn't be long to wait until Melbourne provided them with precisely that, and in the meantime they could enjoy practising their new steps together.

Mr. Butler had outdone himself on the breakfast, and Phryne had to suppress a smile. Evidently her household staff approved of Jack. Eggs, bacon, toast, sausages, tomatoes, tea, coffee and a platter of fresh fruit, plus various condiments, offered themselves up to the hungry lovers, and for a while they simply ate with a minimum of conversation.

Eventually, though, Phryne sat back, sipping her second cup of coffee, and regarded Jack with a thoughtful gaze. He used the last of his toast to mop the last traces of egg from his plate, wiped his lips with a snowy napkin, and raised an eyebrow at her.

"Why last night?" she asked him. It was a question which had been nagging at her since he had first leaned in to kiss her.

He shrugged and reached for his tea. "Honestly? I have no idea. I just couldn't stand the thought of not kissing you for another moment."

"And then one thing led to another?"

He sighed, and she could see unwelcome thoughts returning to his mind. "I thought I would only have one night. I wasn't about to waste it."

She looked down, unable to face him. "I'm sorry Jack." She forced her eyes back up to his. "I've treated you appallingly. I know I have no right to ask, but will you forgive me?"

To her surprise and relief he smiled gently at her. "I never blamed you, Phryne. I may have been angry with you, but I never blamed you." He reached out and touched her cheek. "Yes, you hurt me. In all honesty, you hurt me terribly. But, that's over. And if I hold it against you, if I demand retribution or try to force you to make amends, all we'll be doing is letting the past determine the future." He dropped his hand from her cheek and used it to lift her hand instead, raising it to his lips and kissing it. "I don't want to do that."

She closed her eyes in relief, and opened them again slowly. "You're a better person than I will ever be."

"I'm better with you than I ever was without you." They sat in silence for a moment, until Jack roused himself with a shake. "So," he said, in a much brisker tone of voice. "What shall we do today, Miss Fisher?"

Wicked thoughts flashed through her mind and she let them show on her face, seeing his eyes widen slightly and hearing the sharp catch in his breath that indicated a sudden stab of arousal, intensified by the knowledge that this time her expression was no empty promise. Oh, but she was going to enjoy doing that to him. "Well, I suppose we might do almost anything," she told him. "Although I do need to make one phonecall first." She rose, drawing him up to follow her into the hallway, and kept a hold of his hand as she lifted the receiver and asked the operator to connect her.

...

He was slightly surprised that she kept him by her for something as mundane as a telephone call, but he certainly wasn't about to complain. After so long holding himself back he would happily take any opportunity to be near her. He studied her profile as she waited for someone to pick up at the other end. She really was so beautiful. He wondered whether he had ever told her that, and made a mental note to mention it at the first opportunity.

"Hello, is Mr. George there?" Evidently someone had answered. There was a pause as 'Mr. George' – whoever he was – was summoned. "Trent, it's Phryne Fisher here"... "You might not be so pleased in a minute. I'm afraid I'm calling to cancel dinner tonight." Jack looked up sharply at that, and she glanced at him with a smile. "...No, I'm afraid not. It's a cancellation, not a postponement"... "I find myself otherwise occupied. Indefinitely." At that, he drew the hand that he was still holding up to his cheek and nuzzled her palm, understanding suddenly what she was doing, and that she was doing it because of him. He saw her eyelids flutter closed at his touch, and her voice was distracted when she responded to whatever the person on the other end of the line had to say next "...Thank you. I wish you all the best as well."

With that, she placed the receiver back down and turned to bring both arms up around his neck. "Now," she smiled, employing the knack for double entendre that had added spice to their conversations so often in the past, "I'm all yours."

They were still kissing when the phone rang again. With a sigh, she removed her mouth from his and unwrapped one arm from about his neck. "Phryne Fisher speaking"... "One moment please."

To his surprise, she turned the receiver into her shoulder and looked up at him. "Constable Collins for you."

He frowned slightly, and accepted the receiver. "Inspector Robinson speaking." He listened for a moment, then, as she had done, turned the receiver against his shoulder. "They've found a body in the Yarra," he told her. "Collins says it seems... unusual. I could let one of my sergeants handle it, at least until Monday, but..."

She grinned at him, her expression full of mischief and just a hint of danger. "But 'unusual' murders are our speciality." She stepped away from him slightly and cocked her head in invitation. "Come on Jack; let's do what we do best."

He grinned in reply, and turned the receiver back to his mouth. "Give us half an hour, Collins."


End file.
